Thrice Verse: Part 1
by Curious6
Summary: Part 1 of my Thrice Verse. SPN drabbles about Sam, Dean, John, and Bobby.
1. Lullaby

_A/N: You'd be damn surprised how well Thrice songs go with Supernatural. They gave me a lot inspiration to write these drabbles when I had a month to myself without Internet and electricity, so I basically spent all my time on a rooftop, scratching away on a little notebook with a blanket curled around me. Anyway, enjoy part 1!_

**Lullaby**

**::**

_You say that you're a dreamer_

_Well I'm a dreamer too_

_But I won't sing your lullaby_

**::**

Sam was eight years old when he visited the ocean for the first time. He could still remember the sensation of the cool water seeping in between his toes, the grainy sand underneath the soles of his feet, and the light scratching of coarse pebbles at every step.

It frightened him a little when the waves threatened to pull him deeper and deeper into unknown territory, like the time Sam lost his way in the woods when he was six and he spent five long hours finding his way back to his dad—whose face was _livid_ by the time he got back—but in the end the little waves would relent and Sam would be able to drag his feet back to safe land.

He would always love the ocean; he couldn't help it. It felt vast and somehow opportunistic. Even as he grew older, Sam would instinctively look to the ocean when he thought of going away to college.

His dad would say, very quietly, almost to himself, "Mary loved the ocean," when he saw Sam standing on the shoreline.

Dean was a different case. All he needed was a shotgun, the Impala, and the wide expanse of the road before him. He was very much like John in this sense, so much that Sam would stare at Dean's back and frown when he could see their dad in him, minus the bottle of whiskey in his hand.

Maybe in a few years it would come to that, but for now Sam would enjoy the steady rise and fall of the tide.


	2. Weight of Glory

**Weight of Glory**

**::**

_These words, they burned inside me_

_Take up your cross before your crown_

**::**

"It's okay, Dean, I've got him."

Sam's shoes were planted into the soil as if the action would bind him to the earth beneath him. He shuddered, sucking in deep breaths through chattering teeth, bracing himself for the inevitable.

Dean stared at him with his good eye, conveying a range of expressions from hurt to disbelief and helplessness on his face, and Sam had to look away from the damage he had done to Dean's face.

_I'm sorry, Dean._

Sam lifted his arms and his eyelids fluttered closed. For a moment he bore resemblance to Castiel when the angel had waded into the lake and lost himself and the bitter irony of it all came heavily crashing down onto his chest.

He had hoped that the weight of glory would ground him to this plane, but instead it was only a boulder on his chest that hastened his plummet to Hell. He guessed this would be his fall from grace.


	3. Moving Mountains

**Moving Mountains**

**::**

_Argue with angels and I'll always win_

_But I don't know the first thing about love_

_And moving mountains ain't no thing to me_

_Have faith enough to cast them to the sea_

_But I don't know the first thing about love_

**::**

Anyone who saw the Winchesters immediately assumed that Sam was dependent on Dean due to Dean's fiercely protective nature, but Bobby knew better. He knew the boys better than John did or, hell, even the boys themselves—but not each other.

No, for all of their bickering and arguments, the boys knew each other better than anyone else did. He figured that was why they were constantly at each others' throats; because they knew exactly where to throw their punches (not that Dean would ever actually harm Sam, even if his younger brother rivaled his own height).

For all of Dean's cocky attitude and macho exterior, he was all kinds of serious when it came to Sam's well-being. He practically raised the boy himself, what with John a cardboard cut-out in their childhood. Sam needed a father figure in his life; he was far more sensitive than Dean.

Sensitive wasn't quite the right word for it, because the boy was no doubt tougher than most kids his age. He was perceptive; wired a different way than Dean.

John said Mary had been the same way.

Bobby knew that Dean guarded Sam so ardently because he respected his emotions. There was a light and a fire in Sam when he argued as constantly as he did with John, and although Dean complained to Sam about his inability to just take orders, Bobby could always see the flicker of pride in his eyes for Sam's strong will and sense of morality.

So, see, Bobby knew that it wasn't Sam who really relied on Dean. Dean took good care of his brother, more often than he should according to John's tough love policy, but that was simply because _Dean needed Sam_.

He relied on Sam's fire and he channeled the urge to kindle and nurture that fire by appearing as if Sam depended on him. Bobby knew better, and so did Sam, but Sam still allowed it, which was why the boys shared such a strong bond.

Dean would move mountains for Sam if he could, and Sam would let him because he knew it would make Dean happy.


	4. Talking Through Glass

**Talking Through Glass**

** :: **

_And I can't carry on living like this_

_Talking through glass_

_You know that I can't be the one_

_To banish the mist, ghosts in your past_

**::**

Out of the two boys, Dean was clearly more like John. He was a soldier, a fighter at heart, trained by the best. He taught himself to always look ahead, never to look back unless it was to watch his own skin or Sammy's.

Dean's heart kept him alive and his spirit kept him going. He knew how to make sacrifices, how to barter and make exchanges—especially when lives were on the line (including his own.)

He knew their purpose was to save people, to hunt things. It was all about fighting for the greater good. But somewhere along the way—somewhere between losing Mary and Sam leaving—John lost himself.

Dean was strong, practiced, but overall obedient. He knew how to follow orders. Over time he began to hesitate, if only for a second—a second was all it took, a fatal shot to the heart, a swipe of sharp claws at his vital organs—at John's orders.

On hunts they were always cautious, always careful; they had to be. But John was growing increasingly reckless with himself, sending Dean away on separate hunts so he could tackle worse alone. He confided in Dean even less than he usually did, keeping his journal hidden from Dean until all he could indentify his dad with was the scratching of a pen on old, crisp paper.

Dean drew the line at Sam's last fight with John before he left. John was stubborn, and so was Dean, but Sam wouldn't budge when it came to college. Dean knew it was coming; he had felt the growing tension in Sam's senior year, and it sure as hell hadn't been the calm before the storm.

John's last words to Sam, his son, his youngest, his flesh and blood, was unforgivable. Dean begged his father to listen to him, to listen to _Sam_, but talking to John was like talking through glass.

After Sam's departure, John was never the same. Sam's absence caused a rift between them, a rift that made it difficult for them to talk to each other, much less hunt together. Dean felt betrayed by Sam for leaving, but more betrayed by John for not listening to either of them; for _letting_ Sam leave.

The Winchester family disbanded, and for the longest six weeks Dean was alone. Eventually Dean would seek out his brother—"Dad's on a hunting trip and he hasn't been home in a few days,"—unaware of what he had started.


	5. For Miles

**For Miles**

**::**

_On that day_

_All our tears, all of fears will take to flight_

_Until then all of our scars will still remain_

**::**

The roads were endless, outstretching for miles and miles, as far as the eye could see. For the eldest, it was the journey, not the destination that mattered. For the youngest, it was the exact opposite.

The dirt road became a part of them; the low thrum of the engine, the occasional gravel against the tough rubber of the Impala's wheels.

The boys were sojourners even as children and they would journey together until it was the end of time or the end of themselves.


	6. The Earth Isn't Humming

**The Earth Isn't Humming**

**::**

_I hear these times are the end_

_And another one must fall down_

_The earth isn't humming_

_I'll watch them all fall down_

**::**

Sam fell, a thick blade twisted in between his shoulder blades, tired eyes briefly lighting up after exhaling his brother's name one last time in a breathless plea.

What Dean wouldn't give to hear his brother say his name _one more time_.

Sam fell, but Dean was still standing and there was something undeniably wrong about that. Dean felt cheated, wronged, robbed of his only purpose in life.

"_Watch out for Sammy."_

He felt it immediately after Sam shut his eyes and didn't open them again.

Or rather, he didn't feel it.

Afterwards, the wind against his face as he drove the Impala wasn't the same. The sunlight shone paler, the sky grew darker, and the earth wasn't humming where he stood.

Dean rejected life jut as life rejected him because without Sam he didn't see how life was worth living anymore.


	7. Between the End and Where We Lie

**Between the End and Where We Lie**

**::**

_Is this everything?_

_I've dreamed of so much more_

_Between the end and where we lie_

**::**

Sam cringed at the look Dean was giving him, a look of cold, hard, bitter rage and, _God_, a look of such betrayal that Sam didn't know what to do with himself.

"I'm tired, Dean." It sounded like a meek excuse falling out of his lips without his consent.

Sam wanted to bury his face in his hands and punch Dean in the face at the same time. Heaven and Hell quite literally knew he didn't choose this life, so where did Dean get off making him feel guilty for wanting a life that didn't actively seek out pain and suffering?

Sam was determined not to die a hunter, because they both knew that if they continued this life that somewhere along the line, before the next goddamn apocalypse, they were bound to slip up.

They had cheated death too many times already, and Sam knew that with each passing day the sand in the hourglass fell faster and faster for them. Such was the life of a hunter.

The Campbells, the Singers, the Harvelles, the Winchesters—entire families torn apart and destroyed by hunting. "I won't do it, Dean. I won't let it happen and…and I can't watch you die again."

Sam had made his decision. Dean would just have to make his.


	8. Of Dust and Nations

**Of Dust and Nations**

**::**

_Step out from time, see the dust of nations_

_Step out from time, hear the stars ovation_

**::**

"**Hey, Dean, you ever think there's more to hunting?"**

An innocent question, a first occurrence.

"**Nah, Sammy. What more is there to need?"**

"**I mean…I guess."**

The start of harbored feelings, held grudgingly to himself.

::

Their first real fight will come almost a decade later.

"**Why does it always have to be about the greater good, the bigger picture?"**

"**You're a selfish bastard, you know that?"**

"**I just want to be normal, Dean."**

They'll only come to the realization much later, of what is and what should never be, and by then it'll be much too late.


	9. Blur

**Blur**

**::**

_These images_

_A night terror transforming without further warning_

_Why does this keep happening?_

_I try to close my eyes but I can't blink_

**::**

Local Lawrence news report that there was a fire that nearly destroyed a house and killed a woman—a mother.

Twenty-four years later a man will wake up in a cold sweat, dreaming of a body pinned to the ceiling—a flickering image of his mother to the woman he loves—and feeling the black smoke engulf his senses, choking him and burning his eyes until everything is a red-orange hazy blur.

The man will wipe away the sweat from his forehead and glance uncertainly at his lover sleeping soundly beside him. He will ignore the warnings, dismissing them as common nightmares, and a few nights later a man will show up in his living room, urging him to join him on what would be the longest road trip of their lives.


	10. Digging My Own Grave

**Digging My Own Grave**

**::**

_I look, I don't touch_

_It's really no big deal_

_I'll quit it when I feel I have seen enough_

**::**

Each night John came back to his motel room, to his boys, no happier with this hunt than he was with the last. Granted, the sound of a pistol going off into every sonuvabitch's demonic forehead and the crackling heat of a salt-and-burn was a reward in itself. Nothing was more satisfying than a successful hunt.

But this didn't make him happy. No, he didn't think anything could make him happy—especially not as of late.

His boys were older now and while his eldest still listened to him, the youngest…That was a completely different story. He came home to his unusually quiet eldest (so unusual his hand automatically went to his flask of holy water at his hip) and his unsurprisingly quiet, sulking youngest.

He knew he didn't deserve a Father of the Year Award what with how he raised his sons, and they were still too young to understand why he did what he did, but it was for their own protection.

Maybe he was digging his own grave but he knew his time was bound to be up sooner or later. And he wouldn't lose his sons like he lost Mary.

_No,_ he promised himself. He would never let anything like that happen to him again.


	11. The Arsonist

**The Arsonist**

**::**

_I love this city, but I've set and numbered its days_

_I love this city, enough that I'll set it ablaze_

**::**

Dean held his little brother tightly to himself on the last night of the world. They sat in a field high up above Lawrence, Kansas watching the world crumble beneath them.

"_Dean,_" Sam moaned, his eyes hauntingly bleak but unable to look away from the horror around them. "I know, Sammy." Dean pushed his brother closer to him until he fit into the crook of Dean's neck like he used to do when they were younger and Sam woke up from a nightmare.

Except this time his nightmare became a reality.

"Don't be scared." Dean murmured, rubbing Sam's shoulder absently. He focused on breathing, inhaling and exhaling shakily as his throat began to close up. Sam nodded mechanically to himself, shuddering in the blood red tinge of the sky, the black smoke spewing from buildings as far as he could see.

Dean knew Sam would be taking it harder than himself—thinking of every man, woman, child, _fuck_, every animal he couldn't save. And that wasn't right but, hell, the end of the world wasn't fair either. Not after everything they had sacrificed to keep it in one damn piece.

"Don't leave me." Sam whimpered, his nose turned into Dean's collar. Dean smoothed out his broken brother's hair in slow, reassuring strokes.

"Never, Sam."

They watched the world go up in blazes.

**::**

_A/N: Set after S4. I really liked the concept that Sam and Dean were the "arsonists" who couldn't stop the apocalypse or indirectly caused the end of the world._


End file.
